


Blood in Texas

by shamrocksquared



Category: Western - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 17:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9247076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamrocksquared/pseuds/shamrocksquared
Summary: A western story of revenge it is not finished yet so comment if you want it to continue thanks a lot





	

Blood in Texas  
By. Kaleb Schrock  
It was a scorching day with the Texas sun beating down on his wide brim hat. He had his finest outfit on black slacks, sweat stained white shirt, and a black vest with an old pocket watch fastened. Philip Arbor eased his watch out of it's pocket and clicked the old lid open. It was 10:10 he was making good time. His tired mustang was going at a steady gallop and his ranch would soon be in sight. It had been two months since he had seen the ranch, he was stuck in Boston trying to sell the cattle. He finally found a firm that would buy his cattle and he was so excited to tell Sarah. They had worked for years getting the ranch to where it's at now. There was the last hill he was almost home, but something was wrong there was smoke rising above the hill. Sarah shouldn’t be burning anything what could it be. Philip eased his horse to the top of the hill and was astonished at what he saw. Flames were flying high over the ranch house, and a body lay on ground in front. With a kick of his feet his horse sped down the hill. He leaped from his horse and ran towards it, it was his foreman Chuck Wood. There was a large hole in his stomach.   
“What happened Chuck?!,” Philip hastily asked, still in awe at the destruction.  
“They came without warning, they just started shooting,” came the faint reply through coughs of blood.   
“Who’s they Chuck come on tell me!?”  
“A man named Clint Hillton and his gang.” With that Chuck made one last cough before, and his head fell back on the ground. There was no time to bury him now thought Philip, I need to find Sarah. He scrambled to his feet and ran towards the burning building. He kicked the door down and with a worried cry said, “Sarah where are you?!”   
From a distance came a faint cry of help from the other room. It was Sarah surely thought Philip. The adjacent room was in utter chaos fire was everywhere and there lying in the center of the room was Sarah with a huge beam across her chest. Ducking past the fallen beams and stepping over ruined chairs he progressed to his wife. Using all his strength Philip tried to lift the beam off of her to no avail.   
“Get out, get out Philip,” cried Sarah.  
“No I can’t leave you Sarah I need you!”  
“No Philip please don’t let this happen to anyone else, I love you,” Sarah whimpered with her dying breath. He froze astonished at what happened, and then he was filled with anger. He navigated the burning house as fast as he could, and once he got out turned to take a final look at his home. The building began to cave in on itself just as rain began to fall. Glaring into the slowly dying fire Philip vowed that he would find the men who did this and stop them from ever doing it again. He walked back over to the body of his foreman and old friend, and bending over he unlatched his old friends gun belt and picked up the .44 caliber colt lying on the ground by his hand. It had wood grips and an engraving of the American eagle was on the side of the gun. This was the Chuck was given when when he was in the union artillery back in the war between the states. Philip holstered the gun, and found a shovel in the nearby shed and began digging a grave. Just after finishing Philip took off his and read from the book of Proverbs for his fallen friend. It had only been it's been six years since Chuck and I fought against the rebels together, thought Philip. He slid his hat back onto his and walked to his horse. It was time to find out who this Clint Hilton was, and the best place to do that was the closest town.   
After half a day's ride Philip came upon the small settlement known as La casa de Dios. He slowed his horse as he entered the wornout town. The town had only five buildings a large church in the center and to the left of the road was a Western Union bank that was pretty run down. A general store was standing next to the bank, and across from the hotel was the town saloon. He dismounted in front of the saloon and tied up his horse, and stepped onto the wooden walkway. He pushed the swinging doors and entered, there was a group of men sitting around a poker table clearly drunk by the shouts and laughs they belted out. I walked over to the bartender who was cleaning the bar with his rag. He had a dirty black vest with a faded red bow around his neck and his looked like itd seen better days. He looked up at me his black eyes judging me through his tanned face and round glasses.  
“I’ll take a whiskey,” said Philip. Reaching under the table he pulled out a bottle and a glass. He filled it up and slid it to me.  
“There you go señor,” he responded. Phillip downed the hard whiskey in one gulp, it was bitter but not to bad. He then looked up at the barkeep and asked, “Does the name Clint Hillton mean anything to you?”  
“Dios mios señor, you can’t be serious,” the barkeep responded in a startled voice.   
“So you do know about him, tell me what you know.”  
“He is a mal hombre señor, he has killed many men, and anyone who tries to testify against him find themselves with a bullet in the back.”  
“Did he pass through here?”  
“Sí señor he came in here with his two henchmen Bernard Sands, he was a rebel back in the war and still is, he has killed many federal soldiers. The other was a rogue indian, people call Red Death, it is said he has over one hundred scalps.”  
“Did they say anything about where they were going?”  
“No señor.”  
“Gracias señor,” and with that Phillip laid down silver dollar for the drink and began to walk to the door when he heard a shout from the poker table.   
“I heard you was askin about ol’ Clint, boy,” retorted the man, he had a long black mustache and hair, and a tan hat and coat on. With this he leaned back in his chair and pulled back his coat to reveal a revolver sitting in it's holster waiting to take a life.  
“You best be mindin yer business, boy.”  
“Then you stay out of it,” shot back Philip.   
“,Usted bastardo usted está muerto,” shouted a Mexican man at the table as he rose up and reached under his poncho to pull his gun. With that Philip drew his .44 and with a loud crack the Mexican was down before he got his gun out of it's holster. Another man had his gun out and began to shoot. Philip quickly flipped a table and jumped behind it. The other two men had the same idea and were shooting from behind an overturned table. Philip quickly raised his gun over the table and opened fire on them. It was a direct hit to the head for the one on the right, and another shot lodged itself in the right shoulder of the man who started this fight. He was laying on the ground in pain groping for his gun. Philip walked up to the man and kicked it away from him and pushed his foot down on the bullet wound in his shoulder.   
“Aaaaahh, you sonofabitch I’ll kill you,” the man yelped.  
“I don’t think you will but you will tell me what you know about Clint Hilton,” ordered Philip.   
“You can’t make me say anything.” With that Philip pushed harder down on the wound.  
“Shit! Ok, ok I’ll tell you just stop please!”  
“Get talking or you’ll be talking with the devil.”  
“He was making for San Antonio they plan on robb’n the bank there,” he said in utter agony.   
“Do you know anything else?” With this Philip pressed even harder on the wound.  
“No, no that's all I know, Honest,” shouted the man earnestly.   
“Were you with him when he destroyed the ranch outside of town,” Philip yelled at him.   
“Yeah I was there what's it to you haha he just lit it up no reason at all!” Philip stomped down on his wound, and the man yelped with agony. Philip raised his gun and aimed it right between his eyes.   
“Tell the devil Philip Arbor sends his regards.” Bang! The man laid dead face unrecognisable from the shot; Philip turned and walked toward the bar where the bartender was cowering behind it. He tossed another silver dollar on the bar and said, “sorry for the trouble señor,” and he walked out into the dusty street. People were beginning to crowd around the saloon. He walked past them towards the general store for San Antonio was about a week's ride, and he needed supplies. When he walked in he was met by a startled clerk, who said, “Take anything you want just don’t hurt me please.”  
“I’m not going to hurt you or take your stuff I just need some 44 caliber shells, food, and water can you do that?”   
“Yes sir anything you want sir,” he scrambled around gathering all the things. Philip paid and was on his way back to his horse. He mounted and road out of the town minus the people crowding the streets around the saloon it looked like any other western town.   
Philip made ten miles by dark, so he stopped by a lone tree surrounded by three large rocks. He set up a quick camp and tied his horse up. Only an hour later he was sitting against a rock by his fire cleaning the .44 revolver that had taken three lives that day. As he was just finishing up he heard the sound of hoofs coming closers and closer. He jumped behind the rock and loaded his gun. A horse pulled up with a rider clad in black. Philip raised his gun and yelled, “Are you friend or are you gonna be dead?”   
“I'm the Marshal and I’m here to arrest ya.”  
“On what charges,” shot back Philip.  
“For murdering a man in cold blood back in Casa de Dios.”  
“I didn’t kill him in cold blood he deserved what he got for what he did.”  
“And what was it that he did to be shot without anyway to defend himself; you had the poor bastard pinned down!”  
“He helped murder my wife and best friend and helped burn my ranch down, that should be enough for him to die.”   
“Put your gun down I’m camping with you tonight,” responded the marshal. Philip put his gun back in it's holster and watched as the man approached bedroll in hand. After he got situated they sat across from each other on either side of the fire.   
“My name is Theodore Rose, but people call me Ted. What reason have you for looking for Clint Hilton?” Philip explained all that had happened since the fateful day that poor Sarah died in that inferno.  
“It sounds just like what Clint would do, but I reckon he’s a good ways to San Antonio by now. Do you got any plan for when you find him,” asked Ted with his brown mustache twitching with anxiety.   
“I plan on killing him as soon as I find him,” shot Philip a look of impatience was on his face.   
“You can't be serious, you'll get yourself killed by trying to single handled take on Clint and his boys. Sand’s gots a fast draw as it is, and not to mention red death and his deadly tomahawk. I can’t let an honest man like yourself go and get yourself killed just like that. I’ll come with you and we can take him on together.”  
“Why would you do that you don't know me why should you help me?”  
“Cause I know how it feels to lose a loved one to the lawlessness of this land. I had just come back from the war my brother and I were walking through town one night, and of all days to not carry our guns that was the day. A man jumped from behind a wall gun in hand, and ordered us to give him all our money. My brother refused and without hesitation the man shot, he lay on the ground cold, dead instantly. I fell to his side and tried to get him to awake, but it was to no avail. To this day I hunt down those that bring this upon others.”  
“I just didn’t know, It would be good to have company for this,” responded Philip taken aback by Ted’s story.   
“Welp we best be hittin’ the hay we got a long ride to go before we reach San Antonio,” remarked Ted with a yawn. He stood up and walked over to his bedroll, and took his


End file.
